Caveat: I am currently a bit feverish.
Imagine my frustration at not being able to italicize text here, like the word "talking" in the title. Before any of you smartier-than-thou-pants direct me to my tool bar right above, let me just say that the "i" logo doesn't register on my iBook, and even when I had access at work to a PC, the icon never worked anyway. Of course, if I'd get off my sorry ass and learn some more html codes... but, that's precisely the sort of thing I hate to do, even if it would be so much better to italicize "hate" for emphasis, to cue you that I mean it in sort of a whiney-draggy way, like a kid who is stalling bath time. Of course, I LOVED bath time and shower time as a child. Still do. Except that LA water dries my skin out rather savagely, so I bathe somewhat less frequently, opting for some sort of hippie shower regimen (which is also routinely what is practiced in the shower in regards to even more aggressively drying soap. You don't want me utterly and prematurely senescing, do you, People?). If you don't know what a hippie shower is, well, I've already overshared, so go look it up. That's hypocritical coming from the one who hates to read manuals for anything, unless it's a cookbook. Still, why should I read an inscrutable technical text, when you can simply show me, in which case, I'll remember it better anyway?
But I digress.
This is my point - in regards to a recent renewed fascination with old rockstars, and my avowal to espouse one, I direct you to this recent posting on Unremitting Failure, which I wish I had written.